


Records

by SeptemberCrypt



Series: Memory [4]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cranks, I love them though, M/M, Not too angsty, a little scary, and they love each other, dumb and dangerous ideas, even if thomas acts like a dingo sometimes, idiot boys being idiots, probably the scariest thing ive ever written, really what was he thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptemberCrypt/pseuds/SeptemberCrypt
Summary: In Newt's opinion, this is the dumbest thing Thomas has *ever* done. But he'll follow him anywhere.





	Records

Newt had known that this was a terrible idea from the start. He just knew that something would go wrong, and that they should at least _tell_ someone they were going out. Vince, Jorge, Frypan, Brenda, _someone_. But he went along with Tommy, let him drag Newt out in the dead of night to explore. It was a terrible, terrible, terrible idea--and bloody _hell_ , Newt is supposed to be the voice of _reason_.

That feeling he got the first time they went out into the Scorch washes over him, flooding his mind with memories. The first time he ever saw the Cranks is something Newt will never forget. They lost Winston there. He may have died several days later, but that’s when they really _lost_ him.

Of course, now, he and Tommy are much more experienced—they know what to expect. But even with all that experience, they are _not_ qualified to go roaming about large, dark, and creepy buildings when they should be _sleeping_. What was he _thinking_ , going off with Thomas like this? They’re going to get themselves _killed_.

He tries to voice this to Tommy, tries to tell him that really, they should head back and that it’s _dangerous_ —but Thomas just shushes him, tells him, “We’ll be fine, Newt. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.” And yeah, Thomas is right that they’ve done things like this before—but they’ve always had _backup_. There’s always been someone who knew where they were and what to do if they didn’t come back when they should.

Their footsteps echo throughout the room, feet landing on old, cracked marble. Newt’s not really sure what this building used to be; some things are so corroded that there’s no telling what their original purpose was. From the size, though, Newt would guess either an office building or a mall. He’s leaning a little more on mall. But still, a single building could have been meant for a lot of things.

It’s the prefect home for swarms of Cranks, Newt thinks. Perfect. If he were a Crank, this is where he’d be hiding. He wants to go back to the warmth and safety of the camp, but he knows that Tommy’s not going to change his mind and he sure as hell isn’t leaving him here alone. If they die, they’re dying together. He brings a hand to clutch at the handle of his pistol, tightly strapped to his thigh. This was such a stupid, stupid idea. The things he does for this boy.

Thomas is absolutely, one hundred percent _insane_. And Newt would do anything for him. Follow him to the ends of the world. All the way down to hell itself if it ever came to it. Newt tries not to be too trusting, too naive.  Not in this world. Back in the Glade it was a little easier, because he’d known most of the people since they came up in the box. Back there, they’d all trusted each other on some level; they had to, or it wouldn’t work. Without trust, everyone in the Glade would have died a whole lot sooner, and a whole lot nastier. But out here—out here you never know who’s double-crossing ya, don’t know who’s just waitin’ to stab you in the back.

He trusts Thomas, though. Always has. Even when nobody else trusted him; when they wanted to sacrifice him to the Grievers. He believed in Thomas and he trusted him more than almost anyone else. Ever since he threw himself in the maze to save two people he barely knew. And succeeded.

Of course, then, he hadn’t known how bloody _stupid_ the boy really is. How completely idiotic and insufferable he can be at times. Like right now. He’s so goddamn stubborn. One of these days, it’s gonna get him killed. Probably today. This is, by far, the worst idea Thomas has ever had. And Newt can’t believe he actually agreed to go with him. Thomas most likely wouldn’t have even gone if Newt refused the offer—and they’d both be a lot safer and Newt would be a lot less panicked right now.

They’ve been walking down the same corridor for about four minutes when Thomas yanks on his arm, pulling him into a smallish room stacked with shelves. At first, he thinks old, dusty books are lined up on them—but upon closer inspection, he sees that they’re actually records. “Bingo.” He hears Thomas whisper.

He narrows his eyes at the other boy, feeling exasperated. “Did you actually drag me out here so we could go _shopping_?” He hisses. A few weeks ago, Thomas had found a turntable that seemed to be in pretty decent shape, but no records. Ever since he’s been looking for one that salvageable, not destroyed by age and sand. Apparently it’s harder than he had expected because it’s weeks later, and he still hasn’t found one. Thomas knows that Vince would never let them look around a place like this. ‘Too risky.’ He’d say. And he’d be right. The place just has to be _crawling_ with Cranks.

Thomas gives him a sheepish grin. “Maybe.”

Newt tries not to groan, afraid it’ll alert the Cranks. He does roll his eyes, though. Idiot. They’re risking their lives just so Thomas can play around with his new toy? He shines his flashlight around the room, making sure they’re really alone. He doesn’t want to be caught off guard by anything that might be hiding in the isles.

Thomas seems to sense Newt’s annoyance and unease. “C’mon, Newt, it’s not _that_ bad.” He shines his light over to where Newt is standing, still on guard. “Sure it’s a little dangerous, but’s that’s never stopped us before, right?”

“A _little_?”

Thomas sighs. “Okay, a lot. But we’re alright.”

“For now.” He hears Thomas snicker, turning his attention back to the records. Newt continues his inspection, making sure every corner, nook, and cranny has been checked and cleared. They seem alright for the time-being. No Cranks in this room, at least. Newt considers this to be lucky, because he’s sure there are dozens of them just waiting to attack in the rest of the building. He hasn’t taken his hand off his gun.

He can’t believe they’re basically on a _shopping_ trip. He’d rather be curled up in a sleeping bag, getting his well-needed beauty sleep right now. The more he thinks about it, the more he feels like this is more than getting a few stupid records to play on Tommy’s turntable. Yes, he can be an idiot, but he’s not usually _this_ stupid. Thomas wouldn’t do something like this if there weren’t a real reason for it. He’d never do anything to put Newt’s life in danger—which is exactly what he’s doing here—unless it was absolutely necessary.

He turns his gaze back to Thomas, who’s currently shuffling through a particularly dusty pile. So what’s the real reason behind this trip? Why bring Newt all the way to some abandoned, Crank-infested mall in the middle of the night? Thomas doesn’t seem in the mood for conversation at the moment, though. Was he even planning on telling Newt why? Or did he just hope Newt would accept it as a foolish errand and nothing more?

He supposes there’s been something a little…off with Tommy lately. He’s been more stressed than usual, more tired; more sad. Something’s been bothering him and Newt wishes he knew what it was, wishes he could help. But Thomas doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. So Newt won’t ask. Not now, at least. If it gets any worse, he’ll have to talk to Thomas. But for now, he’ll play along and act aloof.

Newt walks over to one of the shelves, reaching out a hand and touching. He’s never really listened to music before—not in this life at least. He never knew that there was _so much_ , though. He pulls out various records, reading what he can of the casing—a lot of them are too worn to be legible. And it’s not like the ones he can read hold any meaning to him. They’re just songs, songs he’s never heard before.

He turns to look at Thomas—who’s shoving one of the records in his backpack—when he sees it, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. There’s a Crank, standing in the doorway. Newt doesn’t know if it’s seen them yet, if it just happened to wander by. He takes a cautious step forward, wanting to get closer to Thomas in case the thing jumps.

Thomas looks up at him and opens his mouth to say something, but Newt frantically waves his hands in front of him, gesturing for Thomas to stop. He sees the confusion wash over his friend’s face, so he nods his towards the doorway, where the Crank is standing. He’s sees Thomas’s entire body tense up when he turns to look, his hand going to his upper thigh, where a large Swiss knife rests.

They’re not getting out of this without having to kill the Crank, and knives are a lot quieter than guns—they draw less attention. Hopefully they’ll escape without any more Cranks noticing their presence. Newt knows that that’s just wishful thinking, though. With their luck, they’ll be lucky to make it five minute before getting mauled.

Newt feels his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his body. He sees Thomas slide the knife out of its sheathe, knuckles white from his tight grip. It’s almost completely silent, eerily so. Not even the Crank is making any sounds. It’s just standing there, head tilted and resting on its shoulder, leaning far to one side—looking as if it could topple over any moment. The shadows falling over it makes it hard for Newt to see what it looks like, just a silhouette in the doorway. He takes another subtle step in Thomas’s direction, still being too far apart.

That’s when it all goes to hell. The Crank jumps, tackling Thomas to the ground. Newt watches as Thomas’s head smacks against the hard floor with a sickening crack, thankfully not knocking him out. That’s when Newt should take action, kill the Crank and save Tommy. But he feels frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. He can’t move, can’t speak. All he can do is stand there, watching Thomas try to defend himself—guarding his face with his arms while the Crank above him squirms and screams, blood and saliva flying everywhere. It’s a sight Newt thinks is going to be burned in his mind forever, something he won’t ever forget. It reminds him, again, of their first night in the Scorch. When he started falling behind due to his limp, a Crank jumping him and knocking him to the ground. He’d thought that was it, that that was how he dies. But then Thomas came in and saved him—just like he always does.

He snaps himself out if it, forcing himself to sweep the knife Thomas dropped off the ground and ram his own body into the Crank’s, pushing it off of Thomas. He feels the blade sink into the Crank with a disgusting squelching sound that makes his stomach churn. He falls with the Crank, landing on top of it. Sometimes he forgets how terrifyingly hideous the shanks are. Black veins spiderwebbing across their body, foul-smelling fluids seeping out of every orifice, their decaying flesh. This one, though, is especially disgusting. He seems to have gouged his own eyes out; red, gummy holes where they used to be. The flesh of one of his cheeks ripped off—showing rot-blackened teeth.

Newt pulls the knife out—spilling blood all over the both of them—and rams it back in, right into its chest. He repeats the process several times before he feels Thomas haul him to his feet and drag him out the door, dropping the knife along the way. They take off as fast as they can, Newt’s limp barely slowing them down.

Newt can’t believe he froze like that. That’s never happened before—he doesn’t know what happened. His hesitation could have cost Tommy’s _life_. They’re lucky they’re fine. Though, they’re not out of the woods yet—they’re still quite a ways from the exit, and Newt can hear the Cranks start to come alive. They must have heard them. This is bad. Very, very bad.

It gets even worse when a swarm of about twenty of them round a corner, running at them dead-on. Thomas comes to a sudden halt, causing Newt to bump into his back. He keeps a hand on Thomas’s arm, looking around for some other way out. He starts to panic a little bit more when he doesn’t find one.

“We’re just gonna have to go for it.” He hears Thomas say.

Thomas moves to start running forward again, but Newt stops him. “What?” He asks in disbelief. “You serious? You’re bloody _insane_ if you think we can make it through that.”

Thomas shoots him a somewhat maniacal grin. “Yeah, c’mon. It’ll be great.” He takes off, sprinting towards the crowd. Newt just sighs, running a bloody hand through his hair.

“What is he thinking?” He mumbles to himself before following. This is _the_ worst idea Thomas has _ever_ had, no doubt. They’re gonna get themselves killed. Newt swiftly takes out his pistol, flipping off the safety. As they near the swarm, Newt lifts his hand, shooting at every Crank he sees. The bullets won’t last forever—they only brought a limited supply with them—but maybe they’ll be able to clear a path so they can get through.

Newt feels Cranks ripping at his clothes, trying to get to his flesh, but he keeps running. Closely following behind Tommy. They might just be able to pull this off.

The next few minutes isn’t much more than sprinting, dodging, and gunshots—but eventually, they make it out. The stumble through the front door of the building and don’t stop until they’re far enough away that the Cranks won’t get them. Newt doubles over, hands on his knees, out of breath. He hears Thomas start to laugh beside him. He looks up, about to ask what the bloody hell is so funny when two strong arms pull him into a tight embrace.

“We did it!” Thomas shouts in his ear, obviously glad to be alive.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks, pulling away a little so he can look at Thomas, their arms still around each other.

“Yeah,” Thomas breathes out. “I’m great. Thank you.” He says, looking sincere.

“Well I wasn’t about to let that thing just kill you—“

“No,” Thomas cuts him off. “Thank you for coming. I needed that.” And it all makes sense to Newt. Thomas has been so worried, so focused on rescuing Minho, on keeping everyone they have here alive, that he hasn’t really had time to himself. Time to mess around, to be a teenager. Thomas needed a distraction, something to get his mind off of everything that’s been happening lately. It’s all been so stressful—Newt feels bad for not noticing what Thomas needed earlier. And thinking about it, Newt realizes that he needed a break, too. He’s been working just as hard as Tommy, and it’s not until now does he see how _exhausting_ it all is.

“Yeah. Anytime, Tommy.”

Thomas snorts. “I really thought we were gonna die for a moment there.”

Newt grins at him. “But we made it.”

“Yeah. We made it.” Thomas grips his arms a little tighter, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Newt’s mouth before pulling away completely and breaking out into a slow jog in the direction of camp.

Newt brings his fingers up to his face, lightly touching the place Thomas kissed. He feels his heart pounding, blood rushing to his ears and cheeks. Thomas _kissed_ him. Even if it was barely a kiss, over before it even started. More of an enthusiastic, friendly kiss. But it was still a kiss. And for some reason, it makes Newt feel almost _giddy_. Without Thomas right there, pressed against him, he feels the chilled air of a night in the Scorch. He’s never liked the cold nights.

He stares at Thomas’s figure, still jogging several yards in front of him. Newt lets out a breathy laugh, trying not to think about what any of it means. He waits until his heartbeat has slowed, and he’s sure the blush has faded, to follow him.

Yeah, he needed this. And he’ll probably be tired tomorrow, having gotten barely any sleep tonight—but it was worth it. Even if they did almost get their stupid asses killed. Vince is going to _murder_ them when he finds out what they did. But that’s okay, he surprisingly had a pretty good night.

He touches his fingers to his lips again, feeling a small smile form on his face.

 _Yeah. Good night._  


End file.
